


Fallen, Rising - For All Mankind

by lancerelliott



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Anti-Villain, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Gen, Genocide, Hate Crimes, Hate Speech, Magic, Mild Sexual Content, Moral Ambiguity, Out of Character, Racism, Religion, Religious Cults, Religious Fanaticism, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Terrorism, The Well-Intentioned Extremist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lancerelliott/pseuds/lancerelliott
Summary: A young sinner is damned to Hell for all eternity despite her apparent good nature in the aftermath of an annual extermination.On the verge of death, she is rescued by a mysterious yet friendly-seeming organization hell-bent on purging Hell of all its native demons in the name of God, liberty, and deliverance.Under the collective belief that the wicked interferences of demonkind were to blame with their wrongful sentencing, she and this elite group combine their efforts to overthrow the ruling hierarchy and free mankind from the tyranny of the hellspawn.Newly imbued with a noble purpose and a fiery determination, this postulant acolyte is about to take part in the largest crusade Hell had ever seen, all for the sake of humanity itself.However, strife is looming, and untold obstacles stand in her way, which threaten her cause with failure and disaster. But with these obstacles also come opportunities, such as the recent opening of a most-unusual hotel, owned and operated by the close kin of the worst tyrant of them all...
Relationships: Angel Dust & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne/Vaggie, Original Characters/Original Characters, Sir Pentious (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Character(s), Valentino & Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. In The Beginning, There Was Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks and dedication to my friends on the Hellscape, who've given me such joy and inspiration over many months.
> 
> This is my very first fanfiction. New chapters will be uploaded shortly. Do keep in mind that this fiction deals heavily with themes of morality, humanism, prejudice, bigotry, and supremacy in a brutally-realistic manner. The author does not necessarily condone the words and actions of the various characters presented in the story. 
> 
> That being said, I've always found it an odd thing that in the Hazbin universe, there was never any mention of racial tension between the demonic species and humanity. Everyone seems to get along more or less or at least relegate their conflicts to purely individual-based struggles as opposed to featuring the obvious racial divides many would expect to see between two entirely different species, the latter of which is more or less biologically designed to subdue and torment humans in their anguish-ridden afterlife. History shows us that the unprecedented degree of tolerance casually offered to us in Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel is rather rare in the human world even today, so Viv's Hell shouldn't be any different. Although, of course, I understand Viv's work is her own, which is why I am here to offer an alternative spin on her most-intriguing fictional universe.
> 
> As such, this fanfiction is designed to display a darker and more gritty take on Vivziepop's representation of Hell through a more socially-realistic lens. In other words, this fanfic will feature race-based conflicts between demons and humans. Many characters will make arguments both against and in favor of this violence with varying degrees of persuasiveness. Cruelties, atrocities, and the full brunt of mankind's exemplary competency at evildoing will be in full display throughout this fanfic. If you are sensitive to these types of subjects, this fanfic may not be for you.
> 
> Thanks to all those who've helped me produce this fic. I plan on making it into a full and completed work by the end of the academic year. For now, the first three chapters shall be released all at once, with chapter four already being half-completed at the time of this post.
> 
> Liberation Awaits, For All Mankind!
> 
> ~~CHARACTER ART~~
> 
> Ivy Thorne: https://ibb.co/T4RqQj3
> 
> https://ibb.co/jW8KLdb
> 
> Others: WIP

**"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread" -- Alexander Pope**

_Run_.

It was certainly an odd sensation, not quite like anything she had ever experienced before. Her body raged against her, demanding rest as she felt the very sinews of her muscles come undone, the fibers burning with heat and exhaustion. Her mind lamented at her own helplessness, at its inability to fight the body. She needed to get away, but she had been cast upon the bedrock of a new world -- an alien realm, operating on a plane of existence that was as dangerous as it was foreign. Perhaps she should have expected this. She had seen the photographs, video feeds, and newsreels that everyone else had. It was real, they were real, and they felt so very _real_ as she heard their huffing and puffing in the sweltering heat of the night. This place had its store of residents, and their raucous howls pierced the dead of night.

_Escape._

Her aching feet, enclosed in the muddied sneakers which enveloped the pain that shot agony deep into her nervous system, patted against the sidewalk. With time, however, she noticed the rhythm of the pattering slowing down, as her muscles began to dissolve. She couldn’t slow down, and yet this was precisely what she was doing. How long had she been running? How long had this escapade been going on for? The pain -- how much more shall God make her endure? Perhaps she had already paid her pennace. Perhaps they will let her go. Perhaps they just want to talk, with their great white teeth, their crimson-ringed eyes, and red lapping tongues. A howl broke out against the scarlet sky.

_Faster._

No, they weren’t there to help her. They offer no comforts. They impose only themselves and their very nature, which consumes them, and then someone. She realized this now, and she picked up the pace, only to falter in the next moment. The pattering was closing now. She could hear their foul breath, their screeching howls, their vile whispers of such lovely dinners that may be carved from her freshly-slain husk. Yet, such motivations for her sprint proved fruitless, and she collapsed on the sidewalk. Her hands skidded against the rough-hewn concrete, a further dose of pain shooting up her skin. She had completely keeled over, her body in conflict with her mind, which now frazzled with worry. She looked to where she had been running from and saw their figures encroaching down the abandoned streets, headed right for her. She could even see their eyes -- the soft crimson glow illuminating their gauntly features, but soon gauntly no longer.

She hoped there was another life after the afterlife, something else to cling onto past this world, past her old world, whatever world that was. The figures were close now. The howls hastened, and the snarls more audible than they had ever been before. Their haggard breath pounded against her skull… but it wasn’t the only thing she heard. She turned her head towards where she had been running -- down the street, and she saw an object, fast-approaching. It vroomed and zoomed, the wheels circling madly as it revved its great engine, accelerating down the asphalt of the street, the headlights flickering on and off in an effort to get her attention. Whatever it was -- her salvation, her prolonged damnation -- it was better than the furred alternative that was fast-approaching from her rear. She summoned the last vestiges of her strength and struggled to her feet. Her legs hobbled desperately as she took slow steps towards the curb. Her knees bent as the blackened vehicle screeched to a halt by the side of the street, turning around as it drifted to a standstill. Its wide bulky doors thrust open, and a shadowy figure masked by the pounding bloodshot in her head projected its two brawny arms outward, extending its gloved hands. 

“Get in."


	2. The Highway to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a monumental risk, she accepts her rescuer's offer for salvation only to discover that these strangers are perhaps not the good Samaritans than she had hoped for, and that their mannerisms hint at something that ought to be feared rather than thanked...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get groovy, gentlemen. Stay tuned.

**"Don't bite the hand that feeds you" - Edmund Burke**

Her eyes fell shut. She felt her head tilt downward, followed by her slim waist, and then her entire body. As she lurched forward, this new world began to invert. However, she didn’t feel the harsh bashing of concrete, nor the inevitable crunching sound of her cranium slamming up against it. Instead, she felt herself caught half-fall by her shoulders as her entire figure was hastily pulled deep into the vehicle. As soon as her legs cleared the mouth of the heavy metal doors, they violently slammed shut. She could hear the click of the doors locking as she was placed down on what felt like the floorboards of the vehicle. Before she could summon the strength to open her ever-heavy eyelids and see what was now around her in this new metal home, she was silenced by a harsh gruff voice emanating from somewhere above her. 

“Punch it!”

Before she could brace herself, the vehicle lurched forward and she was pinned up against something. The tires screeched but the incessant howling and growling of the wolves remained ever-present, keeping a steady tempo with the scream of the engine. Her head pounded, her legs ached, but her eyes willfully opened wide as she heard an extremely loud _POP_ reverberate throughout the car and penetrate deep into her fragile eardrums, followed by a high-pitched pain-stricken whine. With her eyelids now unfurled, she saw that she was lying down flat on the rubber-laden floor panels of some sort of vehicle. Her head turned skywards, and the ceiling she gazed up at was seemingly composed of a tarnished alloy, and multiple circular holes were scattered throughout, from which the crimson rays of moonlight shone ever so vividly, partially illuminating the murky-cloaked environment around her. Her dilating pupils rolled downwards from the metallic ceiling and towards the figure which now towered over her. The damaged fluorescent ceiling-light suddenly kicked back in and shone its glimmering beams all over the figure, stripping it of the intimidating secrecy. 

It was a man of sorts, that was for sure. His ashen face turned down towards her, as his steel-blue iris hauntingly tracked her own with extreme precision. He was wearing some type of outfit… no, a uniform -- fatigues. She took the time to observe the mottled splotches of brown, gray, and black which patterned and camouflaged the apparel throughout, allowing him to blend in with the dark and metallic environment. Hidden muscular frames pressed out against his uniform, and although he was sitting down, she was sure that this hulking figure was indeed _very_ tall. Her eyes continued to descend, as she took in more details. The floor was padded with inky heavy-duty rubber and smelled of iron and sulfur. A black powdery substance polluted the entire vehicle throughout, and she had likely gotten some in her hair… what did her hair look like?

_POP! POP!_

She blinked, twice.

“Keep the bloody car still!” a brash-yet-feminine and most-assuredly angry voice roared from somewhere far in the back of the truck, touting some sort of accent.

Two brass shells fell down to the floor, one grazing her cheek as it descended, smudging her with the blackened soot that littered the rest of the vehicle. She tried to reach up to the noise in a desperate plea for help, comfort, information, anything, but her left arm was stuck in something. She turned her head, staring at it blankly -- an expression of shock and utter confusion on her sweat-ridden face. A black leather jackboot with a dilapidated steel buckle pressed down on her immobile limb. 

“Let me go… please,” she pleaded, her voice weak and pathetic as the man she had vaguely made out before now stared her down. 

“You’re safer down there,” the figure coolly replied, taking out a cigarette from one of his uniform’s buttoned pockets. He placed it in his mouth, but, for whatever reason, never bothered to light it.

_POP! POP-POP-POP-POP-POP!_

The man immediately snapped his head towards the source of the shots. “Jesus Christ, _controlled_ bursts, Ivy!” the man huffed between his teeth over the sound of anguished whimpering from the foreground.

“Well, why don’t _you_ try shooting out a tiny porthole at high speeds, eh Draven? And tell Ledger to keep it steady! These fast lil’mutts are all ov-”

_BRSKK!_

The truck tires screeched, as momentary weightlessness encaptured everyone. Her arm temporarily became free of Draven’s boot before it came slamming down back on her forearm, causing her to cry out in agony. Not paying her pain any mind, Draven smoothly caught his cigarette with his willowy gloved hand, the cancer stick having escaped from his chapped lips during the airtime.

Draven grimaced and pressed his boot down even harder, eliciting a miserable whimper from his victim. “Mind the potholes, Ledger!” Draven shouted over the sound of more gunfire from somewhere in the back of the vehicle.

_Potholes._

Her eyes widened as the glorious idea took root. This was her opportunity. She drowned out the pain, drowned out the relentless gunfire, drowned out everything -- devoting herself entirely to the task at hand, which would either lead to her salvation or her destruction. 

Using her one free arm, which had been quietly tucked away under her side, she felt around the floorboard, her fingers tracing the rubber for any sense of… _bingo._ Her fingers slid around the brass casing of one of the rifle shells, and she held it firm in her hand. She waited patiently as a variety of sounds and semblances of anger screamed above her. Then, it happened.

The car once more bounced into the air, and her arm was now free as the boot briefly lost leverage over her forearm. With all of her might, she turned around on the floor and slammed the sharp bullet casing straight into her captor’s leg. Draven yelled out in pain as he reeled back from the aggressor. She took this opportunity, half-raising herself to her feet as the car slammed back down on the road, causing her and Draven to tumble onto one another on the padded seats of the truck. Draven took a moment to process what was happening, and upon realizing that he was now entangled with this woman, he attempted to grab ahold of her. She, as feeble and short as she was, fiercely resisted, managing to avoid his clutches while scraping him with her nails.

“Fuck! She’s loose! Ivy! She’s--” Draven hollered, but was interrupted as his grip on her hand faltered, and soon that very same hand slapped him hard across the cheek. Draven coiled back into his seat, letting her go as he cursed under his breath. 

Free at last, she looked around the car and saw that the opposite door was unguarded. She quickly got on all fours, desperately dragging herself across the seats. Upon reaching the door, she fumbled with the handle, concluding that jumping out of the vehicle at high speeds would be a better option than suffering whatever these intimidating strangers had in mind for her. However, she hadn’t noticed that the shooting stopped, and the last thing she felt that night was the hard collision of a rifle butt to the back of her head as darkness took her once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet dreams, mon chéri...


	3. And She Will Swallow Up Death Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreamlands bring us many pleasant feelings, but even hurricanes have an eye to see the truth which will never fail to swallow us up.

**"Heaven is a choice you must make, not a place we must find" - David Jeremiah**

_A person._

There. Atop the hill -- oh so picturesque -- stood a cloaked form. Whoever it was, it looked down upon a valley of golden grain and a scenic landscape of the utmost serenity. The hill upon which the distant figure stood was covered in Spring green. Flowers of all types sprouted up from the earth instantly, practically smiling at the sky, clear as day. Even the skies themselves were wondrous and full of life -- refracting a lovely light blue, dotted with white puffy clouds which provided shade and respite from the mild heat of this bright and cheery day. Yes -- for it was day, and this day was forever! The sun sat perfectly above the sky, causing no shadows or darkness -- a day that truly lasts for all eternity. She was overcome with an urge and gazed up at the sun but felt no pain. My God, it felt so warm. _Her_ God. She reached out her arms as if to hug the light, and it hugged her back with a tenderness tenfold in strength than any she had ever received. 

But… where even was she? Her smile, which had unknowingly crept up on her face, faded as the warmth slid out from her. She was surrounded by friendly forests and wildlife of all types which left only the hill and the mysterious figure as the sole route she could possibly take. And so, the trek up the slopes began. Rabbits and other cute creatures pranced around her -- far closer than any sensible animal would ever get -- which made her chuckle to herself in fondness. 

_I like heaven._

She continued bounding up the hill like a deer, not burdened by any Earthly fatigue, laughing all the way up as dozens of birds of all colors and magnificent feathers began flying in a circle around her, showing off their triumphant songs of victory and joy everlasting! She was having so much fun, that she hadn’t quite noticed when she reached the top of the hill until she almost bumped into it. She looked up at the figure. It stood only a few feet away, its back turned towards her. Whoever it was, it had lovely blonde hair -- extremely long, all while boasting the most colorful outfit she had ever seen. She had blonde hair too, yes, she remembers that now. 

The chirping intensified. 

“Hello!” she shouted, giddy to meet the co-resident of their eternal reward. 

…

But it didn’t respond.

The twitter of the birds grew even louder.

“Hello…?” she muttered, her face now anxious and soft, continuing to approach the figure as her hand reached out to tap it’s shoulder. 

Crimson distortions in the corner of her eyes began to materialize. 

Just as she made contact, the figure’s head completely turned around with a horrifying _crunch_. 

_Gasp!_

It's face -- her face! It was scorched red, as if it had been nearly burnt off. It’s eyes were sewn shut with crude dressing. Heat and fire bursted out from the canthus, illuminating its ghastly features. The mouth gaped wide open at an unnatural angle, revealing yellow-stained serrated fangs, with bits of flesh stuck in between the gaps from its last meal. The discolored and bloated lips leaked and oozed a white visceral fluid as the thing began grinding its teeth. The teeth milled against one another so violently that they began to crack and break under the pressure of the jaw, sending fragments of bloody dentin and gums flying out of its mouth. 

_Familiar._

“Who are you?” she asked over screeching cawing -- the colorful birds gone, replaced by mad crows, the frolicing rabbits supplanted with crimson-eyed wolves which growled and circled around her, snapping their teeth and baring their sharp canines, eager to devour their meal. The sky transformed into a shade of deep crimson -- the warming sun replaced with a frigid pentagram-strewn blood-moon. The world itself warped radically into a hellscape in just a few seconds, as all life, joy, and hope was sucked out of it before her very eyes, wide apart and gaping. She tried to run away but her feet were stuck. She looked down to see that the flowers had been substituted with blackened thorny thickets, bearing sharp thorns that looked like they could cut through wood. The scrubs sprouted up from the ground, rapidly grasping her as a hand would, grabbing at her legs, pulling the prey downwards into the desolate and ashy soil. She let out a bloodcurdling scream as the thorns pierced and ripped her flesh -- tearing through her sinews -- as the grip reached her torso. The ground itself continued to swallow her up, while the gore-ridden monster cast a slaughterous grin upon the victim, all while gnawing on its own dentition. All she could hear was the weeping and gnashing of teeth before she heard a freakish snapping noise as great wings -- black as night -- sprouted out from the monster’s back, flapping and spreading themselves out to an incredible length. The monster moved its arm, making a silencing motion with its hand as the index finger moved up and down its bulbous lip, shushing her.

“No! Wait! I don’t want to go!” she screamed, but the world above her vanished as the earth closed its mouth and swallowed her up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heaven was so close, yet now so far away. What was once a promise which had motivated such a noble attempt at righteousness has now been twisted away, out of reach, torn from the hands and hopes of so many found so unfit for Paradise.
> 
> The next chapter will be released in no more than two weeks.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed my little "pilot" reading!


	4. Behold, The Black Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having awoken in a place as strange as it is comfortable, the woman recognizes a familiar face and an old foe.
> 
> (Rewritten on 11/17/20)

**“When he opened one of the seals, I heard a living creature call out, ‘Come!’ I looked, and behold, there was a black horse”**

**\-- Revelation 6:5**

She woke. 

Her eyes shot open with a scream as she gasped for air, heaving madly for a supply of oxygen the atmosphere so graciously provided her. Rising from the bed in a flash, she quickly snapped her head around, panting wildly. Taking a few moments to catch her breath, she slowly gazed down at herself with aching bloodshot eyes -- her mind not yet recovered from her dreamy ordeal -- observing that she was resting on a soft, comfortable bed. White linen sheets, damp with terror-sweat, covered her all the way to her waist as if she had been gently tucked in by an affectionate mother. She seemed to be wearing a loose-fitting white gown of some sort but paid this no mind, instead electing to ascertain her safety first. Her panic-laced eyes lifted upwards as she took in her surroundings.

_ Mmm. _

She seemed to be in a very spacious yet poorly-lit room of some yet-to-be-determined nature. No one else appeared to share this rather large space with her. Still, the hum of air conditioning units, the rhymic beeping of dim monitors, and other sensual elements kept her company. Although these contraptions could hardly be seen under the ceiling lights’ flickering gleam, they could undoubtedly be heard as they played their own symphony of mechanization. The lights were scattered throughout the room, silverly and recessed into the ceiling. Although they were far from fancy, they did boast an unusually-modern and expensive look. Even so, the lights were clearly underpowered for some reason, flickering on and off in varying ranges of luminescent intensity. They clearly illuminated her bright-white loose-fitting gown in one moment and leaving it in terrible darkness the next. Although concerned about the freakish flickering light-show and what monsters may take advantage of the eclipses, she was far more troubled at the idea of someone having changed her outfit without her knowledge. 

_ Were they still here? _

Frightened at the prospect but nonetheless deeply curious, she shyly leaned over her bed. She gazed downwards to scan for hidden dangers below. To her relief, she found no wolves, monsters, or the like, only observing the floor. It was a clean white tile, boasting a sterile aesthetic, contrasting deeply with her jarring memories of blood, rust, filth, and other vestiges of her short yet most-definitely horrific experience down in this realm. Despite its appealing appearance, she dared not step onto it. She couldn’t trust the ground anymore. As an adult, she knew that she shouldn’t be letting her irrational fears get the best of her, but the people who had often told her this weren’t actually afraid at that moment. They were not in Hell. They hadn’t seen what she had seen.

_ The monsters are real down here. _

Shuddering, she tossed aside these grim thoughts, shooting her eyes up from the ground. She noticed a strange device of some sort sitting directly next to her white linen-laden bed. Whatever it was, it was rather boxy in its dimensions, possessing a series of sophisticated-looking controls, akin to a piece of advanced digital equipment. Green pulsating lines beeped on its monitor, as various combinations of numbers and acronyms scattered themselves throughout. 

_ Curious. _

She moved her hand to touch it but suddenly came to a halt. She noticed something she hadn’t before, lurking in the corner of her eye. There protruded a dark cable from the device, but it did not fall to the ground as gravity would have demanded.

_ Very curious. _

Her eyes tracked its length as they followed where the wire led to. Closer, closer, and closer, the cable led right up to her…

_ There’s a thing on my finger. _

As she looked down in surprise, there was indeed a strange-looking gadget clamping down on her index finger. Under the pressured flesh, she could feel her pulse steadily beat, only to begin rising in the very next moment.

_ I’m hooked up to a machine! _

What were they doing to her? Why was she here? Where even was she? Was this thing harmful? What does it do?

A thousand questions jabbed at her racing mind, bubbling over into a panic and confusion she had yet to become accustomed to during her recent experiences. It was in this gripping fear when she quickly unlatched the device from her finger. As soon as she did this, a loud, steady BEEP noise erupted from the monitor close to the side of her bed. Panicking even more as the incredibly-noisy beeping sound continued it’s loud, nerve-racking drone, she attempted to find the power button -- if there was one -- and stop attracting the attention of her captors… whoever they were. She fidgeted and fussed, but she couldn’t find a switch from the confines of her bed. Frustrated and worried, her fear of her captors surpassed her fear of the ground, and she began to get out of her bed. Before her foot touched the ground, she heard a violent metallic  _ CLANG _ break out from across the room. She snapped her head and behold a most-unwelcome and unholy sight. There, not far from where she lay, under the dim and temporary illumination of the now-jostling ceiling lights, towered a familiar face. Clad in black, bearing sharp fangs and a look of ravenous rage, he stared her down from far across the room.

_ Draven. _

He did not speak. He did not shout. He simply advanced, and with each step he took towards her, the  _ clomp-clomp-clomp _ of his leathery black jackboots loudened as its hobnails hit against the white tiles. His angered expression did all the talking for him, and as he strode, he seemingly became taller and beefier under his black leather trench coat -- an article truly as fashionable as it was intimidating. She stopped instantly. Her face now paralyzed with dread as her old aggressor drew closer with inexorable confidence. With nowhere to go, she resorted to scrambling back under her sheets and pretending that she hadn’t done anything wrong, hoping that her jailor would not notice what had happened. This theory was soon put to the test, and Draven stood at the left-hand side of the bed, close to the machine she had just tampered with, towering over his prey. 

She could now see that he mouthed a cigarette tight between his flaky lips. Still, just like last time, it was neither lit nor could she smell any vestige of gross old smoke that so commonly accompanied the average smoker, a smog which would gray their hair with time. In fact, now that he was so close and she had some time to think about it, she saw that Draven had no hair at all. Instead, his head was completely bald, with ashen gray skin, glabrous and smooth, taking the place of where his follicles ought to have been. His entire physiology gave off the impression, not of an ordinary human, but… an animalistic tinge of something else entirely. The reminiscence was undoubtedly of a predator of some sort, which reflected his behavior towards her. Regardless, whatever the trace was, he seemed mostly human. He had two arms, two legs, and a humanesque (and hulking) frame. However, he still seemed tainted with the inspiration of something borrowed from the otherwordly environment he was in.

_ What is he? _

Before she could entertain these questions further, Draven suddenly leaned over her bed. His sizable frame cast a large shadow over the comparatively-small and frail young woman. His head turned, and he looked her dead in the eye -- mere inches away from her soft fragile face -- his seemingly-luminescent winter-gray iris reflecting its own steely light onto her own as his pupils remained eerily still, peering deep into her soul. Before she could protest this odd behavior, Draven’s eyes -- rife with annoyance -- rolled in indignation. His head slowly turned to look down the rest of her body. His eyes trailed past her neck, past her breasts, past her waist, all the way down to her pale little hand. Draven murmured something and clasped her palm with his own gloved hand with a gentleness yet-unseen. Out of her view, he fidgeted with his foot and kicked up the finger-clasping device, which she had let fall to the floor earlier, smoothly catching it with his other hand.

As he silently struggled to reattach the device to her finger, she took the time to observe her well-dressed abductor. His black leather jacket, upon closer inspection, was worn and torn. Various gashes and small circular holes tarnished its fabric, but this somehow only made it even more visually appealing. The side of his face that was visible to her was clean-shaven, with absolutely no hair protruding from any part of his body -- a body which was almost entirely covered in clothing, which made it hard to decipher the finer elements of his perplexing physicality. His various articles of clothing themselves -- ranging from his loose-fitting jeans to his supple-seeming roper gloves -- were always a shade of black or dark-gray. He did not look like the type of guy to play around. Even the soft silver glow of his eyes, emanating from his looming figure, complimented his meaning elegance.

“Ahh,” she whimpered as she felt pain shoot up from her finger, the device now having been reattached.

Draven turned his head, a look of confusion, irritation, and what could be a small tinge of concern donning his expression. Standing all the way up once more, he sighed and walked away from the bed towards the wall opposite from its end, leaning against it and crossing his arms nonchalantly. Wetting his dry and chapped lips with what appeared to be an unusually usual tongue, he finally moved to speak as a low scruffy tone escaped from his mouth.

“Why did you do that?” 

She said nothing.

Draven tilted his head slightly. “Are you gonna answer me?”

Still nothing.

Draven sighed. “It's a heartbeat monitor. It can’t hurt you. This,” Draven unfolded one of his arms and made a circular whirling motion with his gloved hand, “all of this is the medical wing. You’re safe. Safer than most, in fact.” 

Silence.

“Are you gonna say anything?” Draven asked, his tone now more disappointed than bitter, which somehow felt worse to her.

…

“Yes,” she muttered softly.

Draven paused, becoming eerily still for a moment before crossing his arms again and chuckling softly at her terse response.

“Heh. Well, I guess you are,” he spoke, his voice now more light and friendly. He stopped for a moment, seemingly taking the time to think carefully about what he was going to say next. 

“You got a name?” he asked, his eyes popping in and out of their radiant gleam as the old battered ceiling light above him flickered on and off, both illuminating and shrouding the terror that was now conversing with her.

It was quite a sight.

“Yes I… I uh…” she stammered, struggling with her own memories.

_ I have a name, don’t I? _

Her memories -- her precious memories -- where were they? It was all so fuzzy still, and the swollen pain she felt in the back of her head reminded her of a probable cause. She concentrated, taking a great deal of time -- she knew not how long exactly -- to break through the haze that was the maze of her trauma-ridden and still-exhausted psyche.

She took a deep breath. 

“My name is Perdita… Perdita Chesil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having made an unlikely acquaintance with Draven, Perdita now remembers the most basic foundations of herself, but this process of self-discovery isn't over just yet.


	5. Perdita Chesil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perdita and Draven continue to get to know one another. Secrets and unknowns are revealed, but something vengeful and red is coming to disrupt them.
> 
> (Rewritten on 11/17/20)

_ Perdita Chesil _ .

She repeated the words in her head. Yes, that was her name. 

She liked it.

A broad toothy grin crept up on Draven’s face, exposing a series of sharp white fangs that looked like they could puncture flesh with ease.

“We’re doing our full names, eh? Well,” he began, unfolding his arms and placing his palm flat on his chest, “My name is Draven Gray, Second Lieutenant, at your service,” he finished, teasingly performing a low bow before standing right back up and reassuming his smug posture.

“You have a rank?” Chesil asked, turning her head slightly in confusion.

Draven’s grin crept so wide up its face it almost seemed inhuman.

“Yes,” he replied. “Here, we all have ranks. Ranks, structure, and all the expectations that ensue.” 

She readjusted herself in her bed, summoning the courage to sit up a bit higher and let the sheets fall below her waist. She wasn’t quite sure if Draven was dangerous or not yet, but if he had wanted to kill her then he likely would have done so by now.

“Are you in the military then?” Chesil inquired. He certainly seemed like someone who could make it in the military or any organization for that matter.

A frown replaced Draven’s grin. “There is no ‘ _ the’  _ military anymore. I am in an organization of sorts… a big team, so to speak -- all united around a common ambition,” Draven began, but soon paused, his eyes drifting to the floor in what appeared to be a combination of regret and restraint, washing away his previous semblance of frustration, as if the very question had troubled him. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that yet, you know. In fact, I shouldn’t even be here right now,” Draven said, sighing loudly. “Look…” he began, his eyes still averting Chesil’s. “Do you even know where you are? Not the immediate location -- I know you don’t know that -- but the… world you’re in right now?”

Chesil took a moment herself, thinking about it all. She had fallen from the sky. She had been chased by wolf-like beasts. There were blood and guts everywhere, and she had been either rescued or abducted by this man and his accomplices, she knew not which yet.

_ Where were the others? _

“I think so,” she whispered softly, lacking the courage to acknowledge precisely where she was, even though, deep down, in the blackest recess of her psyche, she knew perfectly well where her eternal resting place would be. 

“And do you know who I am?” Draven asked, not bothering to give Chesil any time to emotionally process her dire predicament. 

She took the time to scan his frame from top to down once more. Truly, his almost-monstrous appearance was utterly foreign to her. “No, not at all,” she said.

“Mmm,” Draven droned, striking a thoughtful pose. “Some people have recognized me.” 

“How come?” Chesil responded.

Draven’s eyes shot up. “Don’t worry about it,” he sternly commanded. 

“But I want to know--” 

“I said, don’t worry about it!” Draven shouted, his arms flying wide in anger as he leaned off the wall and took a single step forward with a THUD, pointing a finger at his victim.

…

She cried.

She couldn’t help it as she felt the wet streaks of tears flow down her cheeks, collecting at her chin, crying softly to herself. 

How pathetic.

Draven, on the other hand, recoiled, leaning back up against the wall once more with his arms at his side. She couldn’t quite tell through her watery eyes, but she thought she could make out an embarrassed blush on his face -- if that was even possible with his dominantly light-grey complexion.

“Hey…” Draven began, anxiously grasping his neck as he showed Chesil a sign of uncertainty for the first time. “Don’t cry. Don’t listen to me. I can’t have you cry. You’ve got to be strong, and we need--”

_ CRASH! _

They both turned their heads towards the door from which Draven had entered, far across the hall -- now slammed open. A distant crimson figure emerged from the opening, her face as red and flaming as the sun. 

“DRAVEN!” a feminine yet most-assuredly angry voice cried out.

“Oh shit,” Draven whispered, his eyes going wide as he backed up further against the wall. 

“You aren’t supposed to be anywhere near her!”


	6. Behold, The Red Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The red raging reaper enters the fray, presenting quite the spectacle for both Draven and the newly-introduced Perdita.
> 
> (Rewritten on 11/17/20)

**“When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, ‘Come!’ Then another horse came out, a fiery red one.”**

**\-- Revelations 6:3-4**

Pressing hard against the wall, Draven made a desperate attempt at damage control.

“She unplugged her ECG. An alarm tripped, and the monitor was taking a piss. I was just making sure she hadn’t died or something,” Draven squeaked, his voice unusually light as the angry crimson-skinned woman strode forward with great haste. 

“It ain’t my fault. I was only doing my job,” Draven continued to plead, his hands now up in the air, striking a defensive posture. 

She was near now.

“Ivy, don’t--” Draven squealed before Ivy was right on top of him, interrupting the giant with a forceful shove, causing Draven’s head to slam back against the wall with a  _ CRUNCH. _

_ Ivy? _

The woman herself seemed to be little over half Draven’s height. She was dressed in a camouflaged uniform sporting splotches of gray, black, and white, similar to what Draven had been wearing earlier. It surprised Perdita how someone so small -- still quite tall by her own standards but nonetheless relatively minuscule when compared to Draven -- could evoke such a fear-stricken reaction in him. Still, it wasn’t as surprising as what happened next.

Ivy’s short brown hair turned as black as charcoal before erupting in tall flames with a great  _ WHOOSH. _

“ _ And _ you’re breaking the dress code,  _ again? _ Are you trying to get yourself in even deeper trouble? You know how the Captain is about this!” she shouted, the bright orange flames almost licking Draven’s chin, yet not actually burning Ivy herself.

“Okay, okay! Just calm down, Ivy. You’re gonna burn something again, or someone!” Draven whined, gently nudging Ivy and her fire away.

Ivy let out an incredibly irritated and deep sigh, rolling her eyes before the flames subsided, her hair returning back to a shade of oaken brown. She slowly turned her slim figure around, as if she had been caught stealing candy and cracked a nervous smile. Looking Perdita straight in the eye, she clasped her hands together and maintained an awkward grin.

“Welcome! I’m sorry you had to see that. Draven has a knack for treating regulations like optional guidelines. I’ll have to see to that later.”

Perdita shrugged.

“Actually, he just came in to help me. I messed with the heartbeat-thingy, and he fixed it for me,” she said.

Ivy’s grin faded. 

“Did he now? Well… I suppose that’s alright,” she replied, giving Perdita her own little shrug. Perdita could make out Draven shooting her a thankful thumbs-up in the background.

“Well, how are you feeling? I mean, we aren’t really scheduled to have this conversation until a bit later, but since the rulebook has already been burnt to ash,” she began, turning her head and giving Draven a death-glare. Draven promptly returned with the bird, prompting Ivy to roll her eyes once more and turn her head back to Perdita. 

“Well, I suppose I can let it slide,” she finished, the last word sounding rather strained in its tone as her forced smile reemerged once more.

Perdita was confused. 

“A conversation? About what?”

Ivy’s smile expanded into something far more genuine. 

“Your future with us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn. I just realized the way I worded the ending sounded super-kinky.


	7. New Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allured by the promise of a grand purpose, Perdita and Ivy get to know one another before taking a step into the outside world amongst this mysterious organization.

She paused.

_ Future? _

“Er, well, what do you mean by that exactly, Ms…?” Perdita said shyly, rubbing the back of her neck before extending her hand out for an awkward handshake.

Ivy chuckled to herself softly, amused by the bashfulness of her guest as she firmly shook Perdita’s hand.

“Of course, how rude of me,” Ivy began, coughing for a moment before taking a deep breath. “My name is First Lieutenant Ivy Thorne, but you may call me ‘Ivy’ if you’d so prefer.” 

Pausing for a moment, Ivy stared Perdita straight into her eyes as Draven had earlier, sighing quietly to herself as if she was relieved at something.

“You have no idea how pleased I am to meet you,” she said as the lightbulb above them flickered off into darkness once more, her yellow-orange irises starstruck and gleaming in a similar luminescence to Draven’s.

“Ugh,” Ivy groaned, breaking the harrowing eye contact. “I hope you don’t mind the light-show. The electrical grid was damaged in a recent incident, but it should all be fixed soon. Our workers are  _ quite  _ motivated,” she finished, licking her lips with her long, forked tongue before locking her mouth shut with a  _ SNAP _ .

“Uh… I can only imagine why,” Perdita stammered, squeamishly fidgeting with her hands as she stared down at the sheets, avoiding eye contact.

In the corner of her vision, Perdita could make out a frown. 

“I didn’t mean to imply that we hurt them or anything. We’re not slavers. They’re compensated quite well, better than most other places in fact. We’re all very well-paid… although some of us choose to spend all that money on girls, isn’t that right, Draven?” Ivy chuckled, turning her head towards Draven and placing her hands over her mouth as she laughed callously. 

Perdita looked up from the blankets to see Draven, still leaning up against the wall opposite from the end of Perdita’s hospital bed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

Having satisfied herself with Draven’s irritation, Ivy’s smolder simmered down. She leaned over the bed, close to Perdita’s ears until Ivy’s silky brown hair was touching hers. Ivy’s smile widened, her lips stretching freakishly as they reached her eyes.

“ _ With that corny trench coat, it’s really no wonder why he only gets it when he pays for it,” _ she whispered as if she were a schoolgirl exchanging petty gossip. 

Perdita looked over back at Draven, who now seemed even more unamused and gruff than before. Perdita nervously smiled, trying to suppress her terror at such an inhuman grin, and looked back up at Ivy as she withdrew her head to a more comfortable distance.

“I think… I  _ agree _ ,” Perdita replied, her voice cracking towards the end of her anxiety-ridden sentence.

Ivy, emboldened by Perdita’s seeming acceptance of her humor, sighed in relief as she went on to issue a multitude of crass jokes, continuing to disparage Draven’s appearance and allegedly limited intelligence. Finally, after what seemed like endless gossiping regarding his reputation, Draven decided that enough was enough.

“Get to the point,” Draven shouted, outstretching his arms wide in protest before angrily folding them back in. “We’re on a schedule,” Draven finished, frustration burrowed deep within his tone.

“Oh, Draven! Always such a killjoy,” Ivy chortled before giving Draven her own pair of birdies. Giving off one final laugh, Ivy snapped her neck back towards Perdita.

“Well,” she began, grooming her hair with her long, slender fingers. “First off, I don’t believe I got your name?”

“Perdita. Perdita Chesil,” she answered, placing her hands by her side and mustering the courage to look Ivy directly in her beaconing eyes.

Ivy recoiled slightly, turning her head in an expression of what appeared to be mild fascination. 

“Something wrong?” Perdita asked, worried that she had somehow upset this bizarre and powerful woman.

“No, not at all,” Ivy said reassuringly, placing her hands behind her back. “It’s just a very nice name, I think.”

Perdita’s eyes furrowed, put off-balance by this odd compliment.

“How so?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ivy said casually as she shrugged. “Now… let’s talk about what actually matters; your future.”

_ Future, _ Perdita thought to herself, the word ringing a thousand times in her head. What future?

“I have no real future anymore,” she murmured softly, her eyes falling to the sheets as her head sank low in defeat. “Not after  _ this _ ,” she spoke -- now a whisper -- all while gesturing towards her environment; the Hell she was now forever condemned to. What an…  _ unfair  _ outcome. Surely, she deserved better than this -- how could she ever harm a soul? With her eyes drooping downwards, she contemplated what she could have done differently, why Heaven had abandoned her. Did she not go to church enough? Did she not use her table manners? Did she neglect to say Grace too many times?

_ Or does God simply not love His creation? _

She felt the burning tinge of tears rising behind her eyes, a compound of lament and rage at the omnipotent being who had seemingly disposed of her in such a cruel fashion, but before the drops escaped their ducts, Perdita felt a warm presence on her left hand. She looked up to see Ivy tenderly clasping it, looking at her directly in her eye, yet evoking no fear. Her carmine skin was soft and warm, and its heat melted the dread growing in Perdita’s heart.

_ “No,” _ Perdita said with a stern, reassuring inflection. 

“Listen to me carefully,” Ivy continued, her head lowering further to meet Ivy’s. 

“Countless numbers of sinners who were led astray have been seduced by that most-dangerous and self-defeating lie. It is a lie of hopelessness, designed to keep us idle and complacent. It’s a meticulously designed fiction implanted in our minds by those who stand to benefit from our obedience to this  _ intolerable  _ status quo,” she began, softly squeezing Perdita's hand. 

“There is a future for you -- for all of us. It’s just that some people never have their eyes opened to see it standing right in front of them, waiting to be seized by the righteous and the daring,” Ivy finished, releasing Perdita’s hand as she drew her own away.   
  


She wanted it back.

“What -- what future,” Perdita pleaded with starstruck eyes, now desperate for the hope, the precious purpose that Ivy stood to offer her.

Rising to her full height, she offered Perdita a hand, smiling her terribly wide grin, yet causing no fright in the now-enthralled Perdita.

“We will show you.”

Perdita watched as Ivy extended her hand. Wide-open and ripe for the taking, it was only a moment before she eagerly clasped it, the warmness of Ivy’s touch seeping back into her body and filling her with the rarest and most precious feeling in this world;  _ hope _ . 

Pulled up from the bed, Perdita now stood on her own two feet. She stared down at her gown, a tad embarrassed at how underdressed she was. Sensing her embarrassment, Ivy offered warm comforts.

“Don’t fret. We have arranged a variety of clothing just for you. It’s waiting for you in your room.”

Perdita looked up, intrigued. “I have a room?”

“Of course you do, you’re an honored guest. We wouldn’t throw you in with the barracks. We aren’t barbarians,” she quipped, boasting of her own hospitality. “Let’s head over there now -- there’s so much I want to show you along the way.”

Before Perdita could accept the invitation, Ivy forcefully took her arm and joined her together at the hip as if they were a young couple on an evening stroll. Now walking towards the infirmary exit from which Ivy and Draven had arrived, Ivy turned her head towards the latter.

“Make your report to the Captain while I freshen her up, Draven. He won’t be expecting her so soon -- make sure he is prepared.”

Draven, having watched the entire debacle from the cover of darkness with his back pressed against the wall, groaned in irritation. “Sure thing. He won’t like it though -- this wasn’t supposed to happen until--”

“It’ll be fine,” Ivy interrupted, continuing to clutch Perdita close as she opened the door, escorting her esteemed guest out. “Soon,  _ everything  _ will be fine, don’t you think?”

Before she could make out an answer, Ivy closed the door, leaving Draven inside the infirmary and allowing Perdita to see what was outside for the very first time.


End file.
